


You Got Me Breathless

by PositivePumpkin



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Asphyxiation, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Coming Untouched, Don't Try This At Home, Erotic, Mildly Dubious Consent, Other, Overstimulation, Rough Sex, This was supposed to be a drabble, Wing Kink, aftercare happened offscreen, be safe sane and consensual, but in the meantime, don't be these two weirdos, got kinda long, heres your pornography, moved it into it's own fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2019-09-27
Packaged: 2020-10-29 14:13:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,677
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PositivePumpkin/pseuds/PositivePumpkin
Summary: Prompt: Author George Shuman describes the effect as such, "When the brain is deprived of oxygen, it induces a lucid, semi-hallucinogenic state called hypoxia. Combined with orgasm, the rush is said to be no less powerful than cocaine, and highly addictive."





	You Got Me Breathless

**Author's Note:**

> The mildly dubious consent is thus: Aziraphale didn't mean to choke Crowley, but the demon rather enjoyed it. 
> 
> Don't try this at home unless you're an ethereal/occult being that doesn't need oxygen to live.

It had been an accident. Aziraphale hadn't meant to do it, but nonetheless, Crowley deeply enjoyed it.

One thing Crowley had loved to do, was rile Aziraphale up until the angel just _takes_. Until he loses his normally firm grip on his control. Now, Crowley did enjoy their tender 'love-making' as Aziraphale would call it, but sometimes he just wanted to get _fucked_. So instead of wiling away he was riling up. And he was _damn good at it_.

He tempted and teased, he irritated and annoyed, he pushed and shoved, until he was forced face first into the pillows, clothes miraculously vanished. A hand on the back of his head, gripping his hair painfully tight, kept his face shoved into the pillows. Aziraphale didn't, or perhaps c_ouldn't_, wait. A press of Aziraphale's fat cock and a salacious use of a miracle and he was slick and ready, and getting _fucked_.

Aziraphale's other hand pressed into his back, between the shoulder blades, between physical space and ethereal energy, and a _jolt_ spread through Crowley. With a debauched cry his wings spread into physical manifestation. The hand that brought out his wings was now carding through his secondary coverts, then griping him roughly at the bend of his wing. He was using the demon's own wings for leverage. 

The angel forced Crowley into the position he wanted with nothing more than a push of his hips. One hand still on the bend of his left wing, the other moved from the back of his head, tugging hair until it relaxed and slid down to the back of the demon's throat. The grip was bruising and choking as it forced him further into pillows, putting strain on his throat as well. Crowley was struck with the thought that he could barely breathe, and he was too fucked to remember that it didn't matter. Instead he thrashed, incidentally fucking himself back on Aziraphale's cock.

"Be **STILL**," Aziraphale commanded, putting divine power into his voice. As if the hand in his wing, on his neck, and the powerful hips pounding into him weren't enough, he felt the pressure of divine will holding him down as well now. His hands, which had been fisted tightly in the sheets, were moved by Aziraphale's iron will and held in a vice behind his back, under wing, wrists coming to meet just above the small of his back. He had no way to raise himself up now. He couldn't breathe.

It was deliriously good. The light-headed feeling as he was out of breath. The choking noises coming from his own mouth. The stinging pressure as if gravity had selectively bound his wrists to his lower back. Crowley's wings twitching except where Aziraphale's grip hardened, squeezing muscle and bone in a bruising grip. The strong, firm, _powerful_ grip on the back of his neck. The raw but intensely pleasurable feeling of being _used_. Of being nothing more than a source of pleasure for Aziraphale to _take_ from. 

Tears dripped slowly from his shut-tight eyes. He felt a fuzziness around his edges, a softening in him. He thinks he might black out, might fall unconscious, and a part of him hopes, that if he _does,_ that Aziraphale will keep fucking him through it. Aziraphale's hand moves to cup the front of his throat, and he can feel the angel's weight pushing his cock as deep as it will go as he leans over the demon. The hand slides up, lifting Crowley's face up, out of the pillow. He's gasping for air, and the rush, the fuzziness receding, and his eyes are open now as he's shaken to his core by the hardest, most powerful orgasm he'd ever felt. 

It's intense. Too intense. His body feels like it's been struck by a live-wire and lit up with electricity. His skin feels more sensitive than ever, his wings are struggling against Aziraphale's grip, suddenly too tender. He starts shaking and writhing, whimpering pitifully as Aziraphale continues his thrusts. He can't help his struggles, though he's not sure if he's trying to move away, or fuck himself back on that deliciously thick cock. 

"Behave," Aziraphale admonishes, voice rough and harsh. He punctuates this command by removing the hand on Crowley's neck and swatting his ass. He then pulls on Crowley's wing, his other hand moving back once more to the front of Crowley's neck as he pushes him up. Aziraphale moves so that he's resting back, his legs spreading Crowley's wide. A shift of his will and the metaphysical space around them, and Crowley's hands are moved, lifted up and wrapped back around Aziraphale's neck, where that force of will clamps it's irons around his wrists, locking him in place. The hand on his wing moves, tucks under his wing and fists in secondary and tertiary feathers. The hand at his throat squeezes once, choking off Crowley's deep moan from the new position. 

The choking noise seems to draw Aziraphale out of whatever lust haze he'd been in, the harsh thrusts pausing, only for a moment as Crowley whines. "Please, please, please, Angel," Crowley whines, face red and tears starting to fall in earnest now as the pleasure is nearing pain, every touch a bright burst of, of, of something. Something Crowley can't begin to describe, can only feel. Ineffable. "Angel, don't stop, please, I can't," He cries, voice high and debauched, throat rough from the earlier choking, "can't take it angel, please, can't take it if you stop."

Aziraphale groans, and Crowley hopes it's enough, hopes his pathetic begging got what he craves, desires, no, _needs_. He's never needed anything more in his life, and his angel delivers it unto him once more. The thrusts are quick, harsh, no longer deep and long, but a fast paced rut. Aziraphale nuzzles the coverts in his right wing, feeling the silky texture of the feathers on his face as he grunts out Crowley's name. The hand on the demon's throat tightens once more, and Crowley chokes. He's trying to breathe, but he can't with plump fingers squeezing tightly. His face feels wet and cool except where those hot tears burn, his arms ache from the awkward position they're held in, his ass smarts from the pounding and the smack from earlier, and his wings shake from the rough treatment received. He can feel Aziraphale's mouth on his right wing, mouthing at the muscle under feather, and then teeth are biting hard into the skin. 

Crowley can only make a choking wheeze as he orgasms for the second time, still untouched. Well, untouched where it normally mattered. Apparently he could come without the use of hands, mouth, or tight wet holes, just so long as there was a hand on his throat and a cock inside him. Said hand at his throat lightened it's grip and he was gasping, harsh with sobs. He could feel the angel's stuttering jerks underneath him as he was filled up with come. Crowley was trembling, each spot in contact with the angel well past the border of pleasure/pain and into an electric sort of sizzle. He was making pathetic little noises, mewling like a weak, newborn kitten. He still couldn't move, couldn't get away from the burning touch of his angel. 

Aziraphale gently hushed him, delicately smoothing feathers he'd roughed up. It was too much, he was too sensitive. Crowley whined a quiet, whimpering, "hurts." Aziraphale kissed him on his demonic mark, his snake sigil. It was both soothing and painful. Crowley tried weakly to pull away. This seemed to bring understanding to Aziraphale, as the angel began moving the demon onto the miraculously clean bed. Old worn tartan duvet replaced with silk sheets and bedding. The iron will shackles fell from Crowley's wrists, and the demon collapsed boneless into the blessedly cool sheets. 

"My dear, oh I'm so sorry," Aziraphale's hands flutter nervously near Crowley's face, like he wants to pet, to stroke, to console, but he can't. Doesn't deserve to, not when he'd hurt his dear, sweet, nice, _good_ boy. Crowley makes some weak humming noise, not yet verbal. The softest hand towel, possibly in existence, is wet in Aziraphale's hand then, as he gently dabs at the tear tracks marking Crowley's face. The demon closes his eyes and smiles softly, making a charming chirrup sound. "Could you ever forgive me, dearest? I went too far, was too rough, I-" his voice cuts off with a hitch, as he tries not to sob when he sees the bruises on Crowley's neck. Deep, dark finger marks where he'd held the demon down. A sudden realization then, that the demon had been choking long before Aziraphale had moved positions. 

Horror doesn't have time to settle in him as Crowley's eyes snap back open. The demon's voice is wrecked, but still he manages to grit out, "'ts okay, angel. Liked it. S'what I wanted." He still can't quite get his body to move how he wants, but he bats and flops his hand at Aziraphale until the angel leans in, the hand finding the back of his head, then Aziraphale's lips are on Crowley's. He can feel then, Crowley laid bare beneath him in ways he'd never really been before, the love, the happiness, the satisfaction. A heady mix of the demon's emotions fill his head, and he almost wants to go again, but he knows Crowley isn't up for it. Still, he can take care of the poor boy. 

Much later, when they both were no longer running high on the post-coital endorphins, they talked. Crowley explained, quite enthusiastically that it had been the strongest orgasm he'd ever had. That he found he quite enjoyed the feeling, and while it hadn't been his original goal, his mission to rile the angel up had been a total success. Aziraphale looks at the demon then, knowingly, yet fond. He had quite enjoyed himself as well, saying as such, causing the demon to flush. It was adorable how flustered he still got, despite all their... bedroom activities. 


End file.
